An Indefinite Cease-Fire
by Kasaru
Summary: After the events of Shadow Fall, a group that has almost been forgotten becomes integral to the continuity of the intermittent peace between the Helghast and ISA.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Freezing scores of flakes fluttered all around. From the dark, a small group of people shuffled from the remains of a forest. The trees that once held life all around now barely stood, there wasn't any green left, only blackened stumps.

The ones who bore the heavier, surer steps wore large black, white and gray fur cloaks, their heads covered not by the cloth, but by helmets. From their fronts, in the dark, only a set of orange lights stared back. They conveyed no emotion of the person behind the mask, but their presence otherwise conveyed it. Heavy, seemingly laborious breathing came from each and every one of those men. A large rifle here, a heavy machine gun there. Their belts lined with grenades. They did not shiver, but the people they aimed their weapons at, did.

For every one of those Helghast soldiers, there were several people before them, each seeming to be smaller, more malnourished than the last. They were clearly in no state to fight, and the Helghast were aware of such. They didn't care; there was valuable cargo here, and they didn't want the chance that it could get lost.

At the head of the group, there was an exceptionally tall Helghast, and despite being significantly thinner than the rest, showed a presence that the others couldn't hope to muster. His eyes shone through his mask, and he walked on in complete silence, his breaths silent enough. The only weapon the Captain had on him was a small pistol, which he hardly ever had the need to pull it from his waist. However, this was one of those times. He had the long barrel pointed directly center on the prisoner's neck that he led. This prisoner was unlike all of the rest. He has nearly as built as the Helghast soldiers, despite having been denied food for nearly two weeks. His skin was particularly bright against the background, and he didn't stumble or fall every few feet. He never heard his captor speak, or breathe, but that hardly worried him. The rest of his company were horribly afraid for their lives. He just took a deep breath, kept on walking. Then waited.

Suddenly, a blinding light obscured the dark as a ship descended from the sky. The heat of the jets were welcoming to the prisoners, but made the soldiers shift uncomfortable and grumble underneath all their gear. The prisoners all shuttered at their voices despite the much-needed warmth. The soldiers' deep, heavily accented voices were almost as unsettling as the weapons pointed toward their most vital parts.

The dark ship landed, and the sides opened up into a small bay area. The prisoners were pushed past the Captain and his prisoner onto the ship. Many cried out when their legs gave out, unable to hoist their bodies up onto the platform. A soldier roared, "Ah, shut up!" He and another threw the prisoners into the ship one by one. The remaining trio of soldiers lowered their weapons to their sides and rested. Watching their breath through their visor was their only entertainment on this long trek.

The Captain's aim hardly wavered as he reached to a pouch on his waist and pulled out a cigar. His prisoner turned around and muttered, "You're crazy, old man." He raised a lithe finger toward the barrel of the gun, not diverting his gaze toward its muzzle.

The Captain's eyes remained focused on his cigar. Just before the prisoner's hand reached the weapon, he placed his finger inside the trigger guard, and released his hold on the handle. It twirled around his finger a time before the barrel rested in his palm, the weapon outstretched for the prisoner to take. He did so. The Captain turned his back on his subordinates and cupped his hands together around the cigar to light it. A miniscule flame bloomed in the darkness, and the Captain reached out a hand for his weapon. The prisoner cradled it with both hands, peering through the darkness at the supreme craftsmanship of the hard silver revolver. He looked up to see the Captain beckoning for it, and hesitated, wanting to examine its worth further.

"You're going to get me in trouble, Harkin."

Harkin sighed and placed the weapon in the Captain's waiting palm with more weight than the weapon itself carried. The Captain's bare hand grasped it quickly, and performed the same acrobatic motion to return the trigger to his finger. He pointed it at Harkin, then flourished it toward the ship and grumbled through his cigar, "Get in".

Harkin complied, shouldering his way to the front of the line and climbed into the shuttle before a soldier could do so much as put a hand on him. The two soldiers seemed agitated at that, and so they shunted the next prisoner onto the ship quite hard, so that her arms failed and her head went straight into the hard metal floor. It seemed as if she were the last one. She managed to get herself to her feet and into a seat just before the largest of the soldiers jumped into the ship, right where she laid mere seconds before.

The Captain put out his cigar and climbed aboard, with a soldier shutting the door behind him. The engines whirred, and the ship lifted off, with a few of the weaker prisoners falling from their seats. Harkin glanced over at the girl next to him and just stared. He knew she didn't need a smile to get his sentiment. Harkin looked out the window as the ship ascended further, faster, and the sun slowly came out from behind the darkness. He didn't feel much like smiling anyway.

The ground was covered in a black blanket, with the falling bits not snow, but ashes. Harkin sighed and looked further down the horizon. A massive cloud still higher than the ship was yet rising, billowing out wider and wider. Massive rings formed around the higher half of the bulge. It would rain later, though the water wouldn't do much to soothe a burning throat.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Wind whistled through the gaps of the metal of the transport. Harkin noticed that many of the other prisoners shivered. The soldiers had that one less thing to worry about, their thick fur-lined armor was more than enough for them to retain comfort. They grumbled to each other about some other issue, their deep rumbles indiscernible to Harkin. He was sure they were complaining about something anyway.

Harkin turned to the chattering on his right. The young woman drew her legs up to her chest, somehow managing to balance her whole body upon the seat even with the turbulence. She wore barely enough clothing to cover her torso and upper legs. The thin white cloth surely wasn't doing much to warm her. Her skin was quiet pale, though not nearly as pale as most Helghast usually appeared to be anyway.

Harkin reached out a hand to her, touching her icy shoulder and said, "You going to be alright?"

She looked over at him, and he saw the redness beneath her eyes wasn't nearly as bad as some of their peers. Her eyes narrowed, "Aren't you one of them?" She gestured to the soldiers.

Harkin raised a brow, and replied, "Do I look like I am?"

The girl's lip turned up in disgust, "You're still warm in all that."

Harkin patted his chest with an open palm, and his light armor clanked softly as he grinned, "I'm just lucky enough to not have had it confiscated. I guess they like me." He examined her clothing further. It didn't look like much more than an oversized rag. He pulled the only loose piece of garment on his body and handed it to her. A small, thin scarf. She hesitated, merely staring at his outstretched hand, then slowly accepted the gift.

"So... you're not one of them. What are you then?"

Harkin shrugged, "I'm their prisoner. I'm whatever they'll make of me."

The girl didn't put the scarf around her neck, but gripped it tightly in her hand and remained silent. She suddenly muttered, "I don't like your accent."

Harkin stiffened. He eyed her at an angle. "And why's that", he asked.

The girl stared at the scarf in her hand, touching the fibers with a slender finger. She muttered, "I know it's not of the Helghast, and that's fine." Her own voice closely mirrored that of the soldiers' own. "Not quite Vektan either. It's annoying me."

Harkin didn't reply. He watched her for a minute, and she didn't divert her gaze from the scarf. "What's your name, dear?"

She paused her finger in the middle of the scarf, where the fibers diverted from a scratch. "Grendal."

Harkin smirked, "Ah, so _you're_ one of them."

She sighed, "Are you referring to this scum?" She gestured to the soldiers, who were too immersed in examining their weaponry to take care of their prisoners. "Or of the Helghast people as a whole? It's a big difference."

"The latter."

Grendal sighed, "Maybe."

Harkin straightened himself in his seat and crossed his legs, the sole of his boot facing Grendal. "Huh."

They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, only moving in their seats every few moments from the turbulence.

Grendal broke the silence, asking, "You didn't give me your name."

Harkin nodded, "That's right."

He didn't continue. Grendal turned her head to him, clearly frustrated. "Well?"

Harkin nodded, "Oh, come on. You seem like you're a smart one, you can figure it out."

Grendal gritted her teeth, no longer shivering, and said with an arid tone, "I guess that's a secret." She planted her feet on the ground, and placed the scarf across her knees.

Harkin laughed, "That's right!" A soldier deliberately pulled the bolt across on his weapon, and Harkin immediately stopped chortling.

Grendal disregarded the action. "Freak."

Harkin shrugged, "Eh, there's a word for everything. Not everyone uses the same word for the same thing."

The soldier reengaged his companion in their conversation.

Harkin looked Grendal over, and smirked. "What's with your hair, anyway? Balding?"

Grendal bared her teeth at him, but she wasn't laughing. She reflexively placed her hand on the top of her hand and ruffled her hair. The sides of her head were bare. "No!" She shrunk down in her seat and murmured, "What's wrong with it?"

Harkin replied flatly, "I didn't say I didn't like it."

Grendal quickly removed her hand and put it back on the scarf, as if nothing happened. Harkin shook his head with a smirk, "That got quite a rise out of you. Good to know!" He admired her dedication to the hard-ass demeanor. In a situation like this, he knew it was better than nothing. Perhaps the only reason that she was still alive. He knew well that all it ever is, is a front. There's only so much a person can take before they snap, before they can't maintain it anymore.

Harkin watched her shrink back into examining the scarf, then leaned in and placed a hand on her cold shoulder. "Look, I want to help. You've clearly been here a while, they've got you and the others on lockdown."

Grendal looked over at him, her distrust returning.

"We're on a transport, this thing isn't capable of spaceflight else we'd all be nice and warm in here, but we're not. Clearly the Captain has more to do here, on Helghan." He paused and looked over at the soldiers. They hadn't moved. "I've an insatiable curiosity. I want to know what's going on here. The guy just leveled a whole city, a city on Helghan. Obviously something is going on here."

Grendal watched him in confusion. "We're... we're not just some random people they decided to pick up."

Harkin turned to confusion now. "What do you mean?"

Grendal blinked and flexed her jaw. Her eyes flicked over to the soldiers, and whispered to Harkin, "We're political prisoners. We've been here months longer than you."

Harkin fell silent, wondering what the Captain's agenda consisted of. He glanced over Grendal, falling deeper into disbelief. "But... but you? You're just a girl."

Grendal frowned at him and snapped, "So?"

Harkin readjusted his legs, placing both feet on the floor. He shook his head, unable to meet Grendal's fierce gaze. "Anyway, anyway." He quieted down, and leaned in to Grendal. "I've got a plan. But I need your help."

Grendal turned away from him and went back to feeling up the scarf. Her finger moved along its length as if each fiber there contributed to a Braille message. She stared straight ahead as if she were blind. Harkin grew frustrated; she was ignoring him. "Alright, fine, I don't need help. You'd be no help at all anyway. I'm more than capable myself."

Harkin leaned forward and looked around Grendal to the other prisoners sitting in the ship. Several clumps of prisoners sat along the same walls. He stared at a particularly small group, consisting of just three men. They clustered together, and they all remained particularly well-built despite the lack of proper nourishment. Their attire was a dark grey instead of the white rags that all the rest of the prisoners wore. Harkin himself was the other exception. The other difference being the way that their skin barely stood out in the dimly lit room; they weren't nearly as pale as the rest of the prisoners. They were Vektan.


End file.
